


An Idiot's Guide to Magical Transfiguration

by theprophetlemonade



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Developing Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Fic, Human!Alec, Humour, M/M, Magic!Magnus, Magical Realism, Malec Secret Santa 2018, Mutual Pining, Pining, Shapeshifting, Transfiguration, Witchcraft, magical hijinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-17 18:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16979985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theprophetlemonade/pseuds/theprophetlemonade
Summary: Okay, so turning into a talking cat isn’t exactly step one in Magnus’ plan to woo the Hot Law Student who delivers his takeout, but sometimes you just have to make do.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lutavero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lutavero/gifts).



> If there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I overwrite. But when a good prompt comes along that ties into your love of magical realism, sometimes you just gotta go for it.
> 
> Merry Christmas, [Vera](https://lutavero.tumblr.com/)! The prompt I picked from your selection was "shapeshifting" because I have a terrible sense of humour and this is what I immediately though of and had to write 20,000 words about.
> 
> There's a second part coming soon! This will be anonymous until December 26th when the gifters are revealed!

“Alexander, your face is telling me you’ve never seen a talking cat before.”

 

Alec yelps - and that’s a sound Magnus is sure Alec has never made before in his life - but he doesn’t drop the small black cat he’s holding.

 

The small black cat that, through a series of highly unfortunate but explainable circumstances, is … well, Magnus.

 

“You can talk!” Alec exclaims. Magnus narrows his eyes, his tail lashing against up against Alec’s forearms.

 

“And a great many other things too, I should imagine,” Magnus replies. He taps his paw against Alec’s wrist, and it makes Alec jolt again. Magnus rolls his eyes and turns his attention pointedly to the plastic bag on the floor, woefully abandoned by Alec when he stepped through the door the moment Magnus’ magic decided it would be a hilarious prank to turn him into an animal against his wishes.

 

“Is that my takeout or not?” he asks. Alec’s attention snaps to the ground, the few cartons of Chinese food spilling out of the cheap plastic bag behind him. The air is beginning to smell like egg fried rice and satay chicken. Magnus’ nose twitches.

 

“I, uh - “ Alec begins, slowly looking back at Magnus in his hands. “Oh my God …”

 

His eyes are almost blown black by his pupils, wide and bewildered. There’s a scowl forming in his brow, and his mouth falls open as he trails off with no words to fill the silence.

 

Magnus sighs.

 

“Put me down, at least,” he says, flicking his tail again. “This is _not_ how I prefer to be man-handled.”

 

Alec is far too quick to let Magnus go, dropping him to the ground like he’s a sack of bricks and someone’s just struck Alec in the kneecaps. At least cats do always land on their feet. Magnus’ fur bristles, but he makes a deliberate show of stretching out his back legs and pressing down on his front paws.

 

Alec doesn’t move. He probably _can’t_ move. Great.

 

Okay, so turning into a talking cat isn’t exactly step one in Magnus’ plan to woo the Hot Law Student who delivers his takeout on a Friday night, but sometimes you just have to roll with the punches. Never let it be said that Magnus Bane isn’t good at salvaging a bad situation.

 

“I don’t - “ Alec manages eventually, “How - what am I mean to say, I -”

 

“Honestly, you’re handling this pretty well,” says Magnus. He sits down and wraps his tail around his paws, blinking up at Alec. “Most people usually just run out the door and I never see them again. I should’ve guessed you’re good in a crisis.”

 

It doesn’t really do much to placate Alec’s fear. His stare is unnerved and agitated and he’s doing this thing with his hands that suggests he either wants to throw them up in despair or rip out his hair.

 

Maybe it is a little unfair on Magnus’ part. Magnus has grown up around magic, he’s been practicing since before he could walk, his livelihood literally involves making spells - Alec probably hasn’t been exposed to witchcraft before. He probably doesn’t even think of it beyond children’s fairy tales and countryside folklore.

 

This is a regular day in the office for Magnus, but for Alec, well. Who knows what he must be thinking.

 

“Magnus, I - you just - you’re a _cat_ ,” Alec tries, gesturing flatly at Magnus, as if Magnus is someone not seeing this as he is. All the colour seems to drain from his cheeks. He takes half a step backwards towards the door. “Oh God, I just called you Magnus, I’m losing my mind -”

 

“Well, that is my name. You don’t exactly have to start calling me Felix now.”

 

“Is this - is this real? Are you really -” Alec motioning dramatically up and down again. Magnus’ ears twitch and he narrows his eyes. “- that.”

 

“This _is_ real and I am most definitely a cat,” replies Magnus, “And it is rather inconvenient, believe me, but it does happen -”

 

“This has happened _before_?”

 

“Oh, yes. You’re just lucky I’m a cat and not, say, an elephant, because that has happened before too. It took me almost six months to repair the loft after that fiasco.”

 

“An elephant,” Alec repeats, barely a whisper. Magnus can almost see the gears turning in his head - what he’s piecing together, Magnus cannot begin to guess at, but he can only hope it keeps Alec in his apartment a moment longer.

 

\- or at least, long enough for him to fetch Magnus’ takeout and put it on the coffee table for him, because he sure as Hell can’t do it himself.

 

“What - what do you do when, uh,” Alec asks, “When this … happens?”

 

“Not really much I can do,” says Magnus. “Checking my emails or using the TV remote requires thumbs, and well -” He looks down at his paws and makes a show of turning them over to show Alec. “I don’t really have those for the foreseeable future. So usually, I just sit around and wait for it to wear off.”

 

It happens usually when he’s tired, hungry, emotional - and once when he was hungover and doing the walk of shame, which is a memory he longs to repress - it’s basically whenever his magic is going a bit loopy and needs him to take a break.

 

And it’s not always a cat, like he said. Honestly, Alec is lucky that this is what Magnus’ magic decided to transform him into today - it could’ve been a spider, or a crocodile, or like that one particularly unfortunate incident, a sea cucumber -

 

Alec closes his eyes and presses his palm over his mouth. Magnus watches him mentally count to ten, and then, without hesitation, turn around towards the door.

 

Oh, okay then. This _is_ a freakout. Magnus shouldn’t really be all that shocked; if he were faced with his barely-known acquaintance turning into a cat before his eyes without warning, he’d probably need a moment too -

 

But to his surprise, Alec doesn’t run.

 

Instead, Alec shuts the front door behind him, taking care to make sure it’s locked, and turns back to Magnus. He looks a little pale, but he doesn’t leave. He’s still here.

 

Magnus is -

 

\- not really sure what’s going on. .

 

“Okay,” says Alec, clearly psyching himself up. “Okay. This is okay.”

 

“Okay?”

 

“Yes,” Alec says, sounding more resolute. “I don’t understand whatever … _this_ is, but it’s okay.”

 

Magnus’ ears twitch again; he sits up a little straighter.

 

“Right,” Magnus says slowly. “Are you … sure?”

 

“Am I sure?”

 

“That you’re okay? You don’t look okay, if I might state the obvious.”

 

Alec nods, and Magnus realises he’s stubborn. He lifts his chin up and folds his arms behind his back. His stance is dogged but unyielding, even if the edge of panic is still evident in the set of his jaw.

 

Magnus _humphs_. He stretches again, his tail popping up into a loose question mark as he takes a few steps forward.

 

Alec takes a step back.

 

Yeah, Magnus figured as much.

 

“I’m not going to attack you, Alexander,” he says, unimpressed. “What do you expect? I’m ten inches tall.”

 

Alec raises his eyebrows, his gaze flicking to Magnus’ unretracted claws clicking against the hardwood. Oh, right. He tucks them back in, but he’s not used to the way it feels.

 

He’s not used to the way a lot of this feels - claws and fur and tail included - but the most notable thing is the grumble of his magic in his belly, huffing like a smoked-out candle.

 

Magnus eyes the takeout on the floor. As Alec has so cleverly pointed out, he _is_ a cat, so he could just eat it here and there on the ground - but he would also like to retain just a modicum of dignity.

 

He is just _so_ hungry. His magic too.

 

Alec notices his drifting gaze.

 

“Do you want me to - sort that out? For you?”

 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” says Magnus, “On the coffee table in the living room, if that’s alright.”

 

It’s awkward - and probably will be hilarious in hindsight - to watch Alec skirt around him, this small black cat curled in the middle of the hall, whilst he holds the takeout boxes to his chest. He disappears into the living room.

 

Magnus decides to give him a moment; Alec won’t be able to hear him coming, and he doesn’t want to slink up on him from behind - _not whilst he’s a cat at least_. Alec might very well run for the hills yet.

 

 _This is not a disaster yet_ , he tells himself, and then he tells himself again, because he’s having trouble believing it. Ragnor and Catarina are going to give themselves wrinkles laughing over this when Magnus eventually tells them.

 

If he tells them.

 

“Uh, Magnus?”

 

Magnus blinks and trots into the living room, his tail curled up like a question mark again.

 

Alec has the cartons spread out out on the table, and he’s standing there with his shoulders hunched like he’s too big for the space, too aware of himself in Magnus’ home, too afraid of touching anything that might also transform into something else in the blink of an eye.

 

Magnus tilts his head. Alec’s face is pleasantly warm, a faint colour high in his cheeks, at odds with the confused frown he’s fighting.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Do you, uh - have any plates?”

 

“Plates,” Magnus repeats in a monotone.

 

“I mean - do you want a plate? I don’t know … how you usually do this, do cats need … plates?”

 

Magnus longs to pinch his nose. He can’t quite decide if this is mortifying or endearing, so he’ll have to settle on the worst mixture of both.

 

But Alec has a point. He does need a plate. He doesn’t want to get rice all over the floor, but he’s _starving_ , and he’s not waiting until he can use cutlery again to eat.

 

Besides, the sooner he eats, the sooner he changes back to human. That’s usually how it works.

 

“I’m … going to need to ask you a favour, Alexander,” Magnus acquiesces, after a moment or two of silence.

 

Alec’s answering gaze can only be described as earnest. Or maybe it’s just panic, but Magnus is an optimist. Oh, maybe this isn’t going to turn out as terrible as Magnus expected.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Magnus has known Alec for a while now - in whatever capacity someone can know a man who delivers his takeout on a weekly basis. Magnus rarely cooks for himself, and the Chinese on the corner of the block does satay like he remembers it from his childhood, and he’s been ordering the same thing every week for as long as he can remember - but Alec has only been a fixture in his life for the last few months.

 

He’s in law school, working part-time as a delivery guy to pay for tuition, Magnus knows that much. He has a sister and a brother, who are both still in school too, and is close with his mother, because his background on his phone is a photo from a family function where they’re all smiling broadly. He’s a little bit serious and stoic, but Magnus figures it’s only because he’s shy, and he likes to roll his eyes at Magnus’ jokes and is always quietly surprised when Magnus slips him a twenty dollar tip.

 

They’ve exchanged pleasant words a few times, a little small talk here and there, some flirty throwaway when Magnus feels like he can get Alec to blush - or is trying to distract Alec from peering through the door and spotting a potion brewing in the middle of the apartment -

 

But still, it’s not quite the level of acquaintanceship that justifies Magnus asking Alec to stay with him until he turns back into a human, but, Magnus supposes, they’re going to have to fast-track through that very quickly indeed.

 

Being a cat is a nuisance. He can’t reach his liquor cabinet with paws. When he tells Alec as much, Alec barks out a laugh that catches him off guard, but then he takes off his coat and dumps his bag on the floor. And maybe, Magnus thinks, Alec has a good heart as well as unfairly good looks.

 

“So, you’re a … witch,” Alec says, perched very awkwardly on the edge of Magnus’ couch, watching Magnus finish up his food. Magnus is beside him, nestled in with some sofa cushions, licking his paws and scrubbing them through his ears. It makes his fur taste slightly like chicken, which is not great, but he knows he’ll feel even more disgusting if he doesn’t clean his whiskers.

 

“In layman’s terms, yes, I suppose I am,” he replies in between washes. “I do practice witchcraft, and I do have magic - but it’s mostly harmless enchantments and potions that I deal with. Nothing like in the movies.

 

“Oh,” says Alec. “Right, yeah.”

 

“You sound disappointed?”

 

“No, I - it just makes a lot of sense,” Alec mumbles. He’s fiddling with his hands in his lap, running his fingers over his knuckles and picking at the skin around his thumb. Magnus wonders if it’s a Cat Thing that makes him want to swipe at Alec’s hands with his paws to stop them moving.

 

“The other week when I came ‘round, you answered the door with chalk all over your hands and face,” Alec begins carefully, “And the apartment looked like a hurricane had hit it … or something. Not that I was looking, the door was just, uh - open. So, I guess … it makes a lot of sense.”

 

“Mm,” agrees Magnus, “I was doing a summoning spell that day. I needed a spirit to enchant a love potion I was working on for a client. Pesky thing drained almost all my magic reserves. I was _famished_.”

 

Alec huffs on a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. There’s this tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth, something a little bewildered, but equally, something honest.

 

Magnus likes it. Magnus likes it a lot. He wriggles out of his nest of cushions and pads across the sofa to Alec’s side, sitting down carefully next to his leg. He lifts his paw to press down on Alec’s thigh, but decides better of it when Alec turns to look at him, the softness of his smile not to be found in the intensity of his eyes.

 

“Does it … does it hurt?” Alec asks, his gaze unwavering. “When you … transform?”

 

Magnus would raise his eyebrows if he still had eyebrows.

 

“Hurt?” he questions, tilting his head and wrinkling his nose. His whiskers twitch. “No, it doesn’t hurt. Why do you ask?”

 

There are words poised on the tip of Alec’s tongue, but whatever they are, they don’t get spoken. Alec clamps his mouth shut, picking at his thumbnail again. The colour in his face hasn’t faded, and Magnus can read his embarrassment in the pink tinge in his ears.

 

Is he embarrassed to be talking to a cat? Or is it something else -

 

“Alexander?”

 

“Sorry,” he says, all too quickly, sitting up straight. “Sorry, I, uh - this is just … pretty surreal. I’m just trying to get my head around it.”

 

Magnus tries to smile. He’s not sure how well it comes across, or if he’s just baring his teeth.

 

“What, you didn’t expect to spend your evening eating takeout on a couch with a loquacious cat? What a terribly boring life you must live, Alexander.”

 

It makes Alec laugh again. He tries to quieten it, in the way that people who have always been told to reign in their emotions often do. Still, it sputters through the gaps of Alec’s fingers where he covers his mouth, and it makes Magnus feel accomplished.

 

This is not how he planned to get Alexander into his apartment, but sometimes you have to take matters into your own hands, or paws, as it were.

 

This is definitely going better than expected. Maybe, when he changes back into a human, he might enquire after Alec’s thoughts on _dinner and_ _drinks_. Maybe that’s a bit presumptuous, but he could text Cat and ask her opinion, but, oh - texting requires thumbs too.

 

Fuck it.

 

“Did you just swear?” Alec asks, his grin broadening, his mouth parenthesised by dimples.

 

Magnus scowls, wrapping his tail tightly around his paws.

 

“Cat are allowed to swear, Alexander,” he says, matter-of-factly. “Now, would you be a star and turn on the television for me. No unfortunate transfiguration gone awry is going to make me miss this week’s _Arrow_.”

 

Alec scoffs. “As you wish.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The silence is not quite easy, but it’s comfortable. Magnus is aware of Alec throwing sideways glances at him all through the episode, as if he’s still trying desperately to straighten all this out in his head and make sense of all that Magnus is - but even Magnus hasn’t managed that in the last twenty-something years of his life, so good luck to Alec.

 

Other than that, it’s entirely pleasant. The fire is simmering away in the hearth, embers glowing low and warmth lapping against Magnus’ paws in a way he never fully appreciated as a human. The sofa cushions almost swallow him up, and with the solid presence of Alec beside him, Magnus feels oddly secure. Must be another Cat Thing.

 

The autumn wind is blowing a gale outside the loft, kicking up a fuss against the window panes, but the murmur of the TV and the crackle of the fire and the soft purr vibrating in Magnus’ chest are plenty enough to keep all that at bay.

 

As far as accidental first dates go, it could be worse. Now, he just needs to come up with a way of explaining to Alexander that this could actually _be_ a first date, if that’s what he wants.

 

The credits roll on the TV, swamping the living room in a gentler, darker light.

 

Magnus hums, angling himself towards Alec, just as Alec does the same. Alec’s expression goes from soft and sleepy to ingenued again, his mouth falling open when he finds Magnus already looking at him. _Oh, this is perfect_ -

 

“Magnus,” he says, interrupting any propositions Magnus is about to make. “You’re - _you_.”

Magnus frowns, but then he glances down at his hands, and oh, he has hands again. Thumbs. Glorious _thumbs_.

 

He stretches his arms out in front of him, turning his palms over, inspecting the shimmer of his expensive jacket in the low light. The jewelry around his wrists jingles. His rings clink gun-metal silver. The fire suddenly feels a little too hot, rather than _just right_.

 

“Oh,” he says, “Would you look at that.”

 

“Didn’t you notice?” Alec asks, his smile confused. His gaze flits over Magnus’ face, up to his hair, down to the valley of his chest exposed by the open neck of his shirt. His teeth nip into his lower lip in thought. The flush on his face is exquisite. Magnus is _very_ into it.

 

“There’s not usually a warning,” Magnus explains quickly, “But no matter, there’s actually something I want to ask you -”

 

Alec’s phone has the audacity to start beeping, and Magnus clamps his mouth shut.

 

“Oh, shit,” Alec curses below his breath, scrambling off the sofa to pat his pockets down, “Sorry, Magnus, that’s work - I was meant to be back for next delivery like half an hour ago - “

 

He finds his phone in his jean pockets and pulls it out with a triumphant little noise, silencing the ringtone.

 

“Oh,” says Magnus, not disappointed in the slightest. Not at all. “Well, of course. I shouldn’t keep you. Not after you kept your word so well.”

 

Alec smiles apologetically.

 

“I should get going,” he says. “Are you gonna be -?”

 

“Alright? Yes, yes, I’ll be fine. Chinese food is always a sure-fire way to replenish my magic. No more transforming for me tonight, I promise.”

 

He makes a show of crossing his heart with his index finger. Alec’s gaze follows, a little dazed.

 

“Okay …”

 

“Let me walk you to the door,” says Magnus, pushing to his feet. It’s a little strange, walking on two legs again, and he wonders if Alec sees his wobble. “I’ll see you next week, Alexander. Same time, same place, hopefully a little less … feline.”

 

Alec says nothing - or at least, not anything Magnus can hear - and just nods his head, fishing his jacket and bag up off the floor.

 

Magnus doesn’t grieve his missed opportunity until Alec is safely out his front door, and Magnus is leaning back against it, knocking his head against the wood in defeat.

 

_Next time, Bane. Next time._

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh. You’re human,” says Alec, seven days later when Magnus answers his front door to the jingle of the bell and the smell of sweet satay chicken. “Thank God.”

 

“What?” Magnus says, half a laugh, leaning provocatively against the doorframe. He folds his arms across his chest and raises his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’re disappointed, Alexander?”

 

The colour that rises in Alec’s cheeks is something delightful. Magnus tries not to smile as Alec awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck, holding out the bag of takeout to Magnus.

 

“That’s not …” Alec says, “That’s not what I meant.”

 

“If you say so,” Magnus chimes, pushing the door open wider. “Do you have time for a pit-stop? I was about to open a bottle of wine, and I’ve been told that it’s bad form to drink the whole thing by myself.”

 

Alec hesitates, eyeing the hallway of Magnus’ apartment, then eyeing Magnus, his gaze quick over Magnus’ brocade jacket and sheer black shirt. He looks away just as fast, making a show of checking the time on his phone.

 

His screen is devoid of messages, missed calls, and anything he can use as an excuse, but still, he pauses.

 

“I don’t …” he says, rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. He’s struggling with something Magnus doesn’t really understand, but can take a good guess at. Magnus offers him a softer smile, more reassuring, less intimidating, and that seems to push Alec one way or another. “I guess I have a few minutes. Are you sure?”

 

“Always,” Magnus hums, and in his head, he can just imagine the look Ragnor would be giving him from over his reading spectacles. It’s a look that says _I see what you’re doing, Bane. It’s very unsubtle_.

 

Well, Ragnor’s not here, and Alec is, and Magnus has an itch he hasn’t been able to scratch in a week and a wonderfully warm, cosy apartment all to himself. It would be selfish not to share.

 

Alec’s boots are stuck with wet leaves from the sidewalk, no longer the nice crisp orange of autumn, and more the brown sludge of oncoming winter, and he shoots Magnus a guilty look as he toes them off on the doormat. Magnus just waves it off, holding out his hands for Alec’s coat. He knows the apartment is covered in parchment and rogue crystals at the moment, so he can’t really complain about a little mess.

 

Still, he can feel Alec’s fidgety stare on him, darting around the loft as Magnus leads them into the living room. He’s not sure what Alec’s expecting to see - for once, there are no chalk summoning circles on the ground, and he hasn’t accidentally enchanted any of his plants to dance the hula lately - but when Alec’s focus sticks to the giant pink quartz on Magnus’ coffee table, Magnus has to remind himself that his normal is nowhere near Alec’s normal.

 

But these things can change. Especially if Magnus has any say in it.

 

“Put the takeout on the coffee table. Just push all that stuff aside, it’s not important,” he says, spinning on his heels and making for the kitchen as he calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll get the wine. Make yourself comfortable!”

 

He’s only out of the room for a moment, a shameful skip in his step as he grabs a crisp and suitably expensive white - although what wine do you really pair with Chinese food - and a couple of glasses, but when he returns to the living room, Alec is just standing there awkwardly, his hands folded behind his back again. His head is tilted too, and he’s staring at the crystal on Magnus’ table, as if he’s trying to deduce all the secrets of the universe.

 

Rose quartzes aren’t for clairvoyance, but Alec isn’t to know that.

 

“Is this-” Alec begins, and he makes a wavy gesture with his fingers, before returning them behind his back. “-for … y’know?”

 

“For magic?” Magnus asks, all too easily. He sinks down onto the sofa and goes to pour the wine when he realises he forgot the corkscrew. No matter. He closes his eyes to concentrate a moment and snaps his fingers; a second later, the corkscrew has materialised in his hand.

 

Alec’s eyes go wide. The roundness of his mouth is very appealing to Magnus. It makes Magnus feel smug.

 

“How - did you just ...?”

 

Magnus uncorks the bottle with an exaggerated flick of his wrist; the cork pops out and bounces onto the floor.

 

“Oh, that? It’s nothing,” he says, but inside, he’s preening under Alec’s ill-concealed awe. “Just a little parlour trick, a simple call-and-summon. A pretty easy spell to master.”

 

Alec huffs in disbelief, but he finally moves to the couch, folding up his long legs as settles into the cushions, making himself more at home than Magnus expected. He sits with his legs apart, his hands resting on his thighs. Magnus gives him a very selfish once over.  

 

“Says the guy who just magicked something out of thin air, but okay,” Alec mumbles. He palms a hand through his hair, musing it up on end. Magnus rewards himself with another quick look. “But I guess I believe you. Don’t really have a choice, do I?”

 

Magnus hums in agreement, but focuses on pouring the wine. The bouquet is sweet, a touch fragrant, poached in some seasonal spices, perfect for autumn. Magnus can already imagine it warming his throat.

 

He extends one glass to Alec, but Alec seems a little less enthused. Magnus watches his nose wrinkle up just a bit, and files that information away for another day.

 

Magnus smiles around the lip of his wine glass and doesn’t say a word.

 

Alec’s focus is diligent as he stares into his own glass, swirling the wine gently up the sides. He chews on the inside of his mouth, figuring out how to ask the question that he’s surely been pondering since the week before.

 

“I’m not going to bite your head off if you ask what you clearly want to ask,” Magnus says anyway, because it’s worth Alec’s slight flinch at being read so easily. Maybe he’s not used to being transparent; maybe people don’t ever look long at him enough to notice. That’s a pretty grave oversight, in Magnus’ books, but it’s other people’s loss, not his. “Or at least, I won’t whilst I’m human.”

 

“I was trying to figure out if it’d be rude to ask,” Alec admits, holding his glass between both hands now. “Whether you _want_ me to know, or whether we should just - pretend like Friday never happened, like I’ve forgotten that you turned into, uh - I’m not really sure about the etiquette here.”

 

“Honestly, nor am I,” mutters Magnus, a little self-deprecating. “But if you’re worried that I’m going to wipe your memory or tell you to forget, well. That’s not my style. I’m fine with you knowing, Alexander. There isn’t really a protocol for this, so-” Magnus settles back into the corner of the couch, crossing his leg over his knee and angling himself towards Alec. He raises his glass at Alec in a faux toast. “-you have my permission to fire away.”

 

Alec nods slowly, his eyes a little glassy as he stares into the middle distance, mulling all this over. Magnus takes another sip. He’s a patient man. He’ll let Alec process this at his own pace.

 

There are a few minutes of silence, punctuated only by the whistle of the wind outside the loft, the jingle of the windchimes on the balcony, and the rustle of the sofa cushions as Magnus sinks lower, before Alec manages to collect his thoughts enough to speak.

 

“So … can you shapeshift into anything, or is it just - cats?” he asks. He’s not as casual as he intends to be, trying in vain to match Magnus’ nonchalance. He lets onto his curiosity more than he probably realises.

 

“Oh, I wish it was just cats,” Magnus laments, but he knows he has a weakness for indulging the curiosities of handsome men, and a part of him is very eager to tell Alec everything.

 

 _Okay, reign it in, you vainglorious fool_ , the voice inside his head that sounds like Ragnor tells him, _the man doesn’t need your life story_.

 

“But no,” he continues, “It’s really anything. Everything. It’s some sort of Murphy’s Law, in that sense. I must’ve worked my way through Noah’s Arc at least twice already.”

 

“So you can transform into, like, a lion?” Alec reasons, “A bear?”

 

“If that’s what you’re into, Alexander. Of course,” Magnus says with a smile he hopes is cavalier. “Although, fair warning, I don’t get to choose when I transform, or what into, so you might be waiting a while to see a -”

 

“What about a duck?”

 

Magnus blinks. Then, he blinks again.

 

“Uh, I’m sorry -? Why a duck?”

 

Alec looks thoughtful, palming at the scruff on his chin.

 

“No reason,” he says cryptically, before adding, “My brother hates ducks.”

 

Magnus cannot help his snort of laughter. He covers his mouth with his palm as his shoulders tremble with the silent waves of it, trying valiantly not to spill his drink.

 

“As much as I love a spot of mischief, I draw the line at being asked to actively terrify family members, friends, or significant others,” he chuckles. “Whatever line of thought you’re following, best you put a stop to it now.”

 

Alec grins, looking awfully pleased with himself as he sets his wine on the coffee table so he can turn fully to face Magnus, crossing his legs on the sofa.

 

“What about things that are extinct?” he asks, and really, his interest _is_ flattering. There’s something about his focus that feels like a spotlight, like Magnus is the only thing in the room worth looking at, and that’s a nice feeling when his apartment is full of so many trinkets and curiosities far older and weirder than him. Magnus only wishes he understood more about his magic’s sense of humour to be able to answer Alec truthfully. “Or things that don’t exist?”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Like, I dunno - a dragon?”

 

He says it too quickly for it to be something off the top of his head. Magnus narrows his eyes and drains his wine glass as Alec smiles sheepishly. He’s clearly been wondering about this.

 

Magnus scoots closer on the sofa, closer than he needs to be, forcing Alec to lean back against the far arm. Magnus snaps his fingers again, and this time the the half-empty bottle of wine on the coffee table hops into his waiting hand. If this is how Alec wants to play it, then Magnus might as well enjoy another glass of merlot whilst they do.

 

His fingers trace across the neck of the bottle, his thumb running around the rim of the mouth; he enjoys Alec fidgeting as he’s left in suspense.

 

“Why do you want to know if I can shapeshift into a dragon?” Magnus asks, inspecting the label of the bottle beneath the harsh winter light that slides in through his blinds, before banishing it into obscurity with another flourish of his fingers.

 

“Well, I just …” Alec begins, but he trails off just as quickly, his gaze stuck like a record on Magnus’ now empty palm. He swallows thickly, wetting his lips with his tongue.

 

Magnus suffocates his own triumphant smile, leaning forward to top up Alec’s untouched glass with well-practiced ease. He hands it back to Alec, and if his fingers brush Alec’s knuckles, well - it’s entirely purposeful, he’s not going to deny it.

 

“Probably,” he says, waving his hand to summon plates and cutlery to the table. He knows he’s showing off, but he’s not about to stop that either. It’s worth it for the way Alec is barely blinking.

 

“Wh - sorry, what?” Alec asks, remembering himself, “What do you mean, probably...?”

 

“Probably,” Magnus repeats, “I can _probably_ do it. Turn into a dragon. I’ve just never tried.”

 

Magnus’ poker face is impressive - he’s always been told as much - but there’s something in the way that Alec is just staring at him, trying desperately to figure out if he’s being teased, that has Magnus’ carefully-constructed facade slipping away.

 

He can’t help but smile, crooked and entirely charmed. It takes Alec a second, but then he huffs, rolling his eyes, sitting back when he realises he had been leaning in.

 

“Are you messing with me?” he scowls.

 

“No, Alexander. I’m not messing with you.”

 

“Well, now I _definitely_ don’t know what to believe.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

For it to become habit after that, it’s easy enough: Magnus overestimating his stamina, running himself into the ground, and finding himself transformed into an animal with _no thumbs_ , only to dial the number for the takeout place and have Alec on his doorstep in twenty minutes, always looking a little windswept.

 

 _It’s fine, it’s safe, there’s not really any risk_ , Magnus reasons with himself, because Alec’s not the sort of guy to go telling everyone in the neighbourhood about Magnus’ predilection for the occult. And Magnus really _does_ hate performing memory-removal spells - he wasn’t lying - so there’s really no other option than to just let Alec _see_ him, the real him, hooves and tusks and teeths sometimes included.

 

Besides, if Magnus’ long-winded plans to woo Alec are to come to any sort of fruition, Alec had to find out about the magic sooner rather than later. Maybe not _this_ soon, but Magnus will happily make do.

 

It’s not like Alec seems turned off, either. Sure, he’s definitely still a little wary, especially the second time he comes ‘round to Magnus apartment, knowing what he knows, and he finds Magnus as a hulking great mountain lion in the middle of the living room, tangled in the shreds of his expensive Persian rug - but Magnus wouldn’t say Alec’s scared.

 

If anything, he seems curious. Interested.   _Really_ _interested_.

 

“So, magic,” says Alec, on a night some time later. Tonight, Magnus accidentally turned himself into a _toad_ , and it’s one of the worst moments of his life, but not so terrible that he’ll refuse Alec an answer. He’s already had his sulk, and he’s nobly decided to put that behind him, because whilst he might be an amphibian right now, it’s not going to spoil his chance to get to know Alec a little better.

 

Magnus is nothing if not stubborn to a fault.  

 

“What about magic?” he asks from where he’s sat in the centre of a pillow on the sofa. His body feels slimy, so he’s sure he’s leaving a gross stain on the linen, but it’s not like he can do anything now, and Alec doesn’t strike him as the sort of man to notice the state of the draperies. “What do you want to know?”

 

“I dunno,” shrugs Alec on the other end of the couch. “Is there like, a Magic For Dummies guidebook I should read or something?”

 

“If there is, I can promise you it’s complete garbage,” says Magnus, “But there are lots of different types of magic, so I can’t speak for all of them.”

 

“And you do transfigurations? And summoning?”

 

“Amongst others things,” Magnus replies. It’s hard to look modest as a toad. It’s hard to look like _anything_ as a toad. Briefly, he wonders how long his tongue is and whether he could strangle himself with it.

 

Catarina would tell him he’s being dramatic, but the sooner he turns back into a human, the better.

He wants to _show_ Alec what his magic can do. Step number one of his master plan to get into Alec’s good books - amongst other things - definitely could be helped along by some cheap vanishing tricks and a couple of sparks. He’s sure Alec would be impressed.

 

Instead, he just sighs, shrinking down into himself until he’s almost flat. Alec raises an eyebrow.

 

“Magnus? Everything alright?”

 

“Just peachy,” Magnus grumbles, before adding, “Most people are born with an affinity for magic, but it can be learned. I inherited it from my father, although he practices the … darker arts, shall we say.”

 

“That sounds ominous.”

 

“Well, that’s certainly a word for it,” Magnus mutters, “I prefer more menial spellcasting. There’s quite a market for homebrew potions on Etsy, you know.”

 

Alec grabs a cushion off the sofa and hugs it to his chest. He pulls his legs up and tucks his feet under himself, settling in for this conversation. Magnus wishes he could join him; there’s this perfect spot for him beneath Alec’s arm if only he were a little bigger and a little less warty.

 

“What sort of stuff do you make then?” Alec asks. His earnestness is genuine, sweet and lovely in a way that makes Magnus want to melt into a puddle of self-loathing right here on the couch. “Love potions and stuff?”

“Now, that’s a cliche,” says Magnus, “Although, an accurate one. But usually it’s just remedies, herbal supplements, spells for good fortune or longevity. That sort of thing.”

 

“Oh,” says Alec, nodding his head. “Actually, y’know, I’m not surprised. It makes sense - for you, I mean. You like helping people.”

 

 _I like helping people when they pay me_ , Magnus thinks, a little bitterly, but he doesn’t dwell on it. Alec’s honesty is refreshing, and his view of who he thinks Magnus is -

 

Well, it’s nice. People are always passing him pretty words, but it’s rare that Magnus receives ones not about his appearance, or his power, or his prowess in the sheets. This time, it’s heartfelt and candid. That’s rare, magic in a curious way. He feels like he should savour it and not let it pass him by.

 

Outside, night is falling, caught in that strange twilight of an autumn evening upon the cusp of winter where the sky is a forever blue. That’s a little bit magic too.

 

It only serves to make the light of the loft softer, more amber in its glow. Alec’s eyes are something close to the colour of that light through a whiskey glass, and Magnus is struck by the need to tell him as much.

 

He can’t of course. You don’t tell people things like that when you’re moonlighting as a toad. He can’t imagine it would be taken seriously.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Magnus’ want to see Alec is becoming a problem. Catarina tells him to just take the leap and _ask the guy out already, for God’s sake Magnus, you’re a nightmare_ , and Raphael just rolls his eyes when he comes over to collect a jar of fangs he needs for a spell. Ragnor is no better, but for an entirely different reason, telling Magnus primly that he’s a fool for chasing after a mundane who doesn’t understand magic, because he’s sure it’ll just end in a mess that Ragnor himself will have to clean up.

 

Magnus decides not to listen to Ragnor after that.

 

Maybe if he and Alec weren’t limited to every Friday and the hour Magnus manages to steal on his designated takeout night, things would be moving quicker. He could just bite the bullet and ask Alec out on a date like a normal functioning human being, and then they’d have their pick of any day of the week, and Magnus wouldn’t be growing this restless on a Thursday night as he wishes the time away for tomorrow - but where’s the drama in that?

 

He could just order more takeout. Yes, that’s an entirely logical and rational solution. More takeout, more excuses to see Alec, more time for him to work up his nerve -

 

Magnus has never been _nervous_ about asking someone out before. Really, he should be even less nervous than usual, because Alec has already seen all the cards he usually keeps so close to his chest, so it’s not like Magnus has many other horrible secrets to come trickling out of the woodwork, but -

 

But, it’s strange, this vulnerability. He doesn’t usually allow himself such a thing, and he figures he’s rather clumsy with it. Part of him is a little afraid of opening himself up and getting bruised.

 

He places an order for Chinese food anyway. The part of him that’s _not_ afraid has always been a hedonist. It’s a dichotomy that gets him in all sorts of trouble.

 

Alec arrives at his door not thirty minutes later, looking both grumpy and confused. With his hair all mused by the wind and his eyes caught in the shadow of the front door, he looks particularly tall, dark, and handsome tonight. Magnus could swoon.

 

“Why’d you call for food tonight?” Alec asks instead of a greeting, his brow lined by that endearing scowl of his. “It’s not a Friday.”

 

“Maybe I wanted to see you again,” Magnus shrugs. It only makes Alec’s scowl deepen, but Magnus is not blind to the stutter in Alec’s hands as he unloads the takeout containers from his bag and hands them out to Magnus.

 

Magnus receives them with a gentle thank you, a little disappointed that it seems Alec is not planning on staying tonight. _Well, he’s not currently an animal of some magic variety, so Magnus supposes Alec has no excuse ..._

 

But Alec doesn’t move to walk away; instead, he swallows thickly, staring hard at the floor and folding his hands behind his back dutifully. And when he talks again, just one word, his voice is odd. Unsure, perhaps. Or, would Magnus call it _hopeful_ -

 

“... Why?” Alec asks.

 

“Why I would want to see you again?” Magnus replies, keeping his voice soft. “Is it so bad a thing?”

 

“I - no, it’s not a bad thing, I just -” Alec begins, but he seems frustrated in himself, like he can’t pick and choose the words he wants to say. Or maybe, the words he wants to say are something he thinks Magnus doesn’t want to hear.

 

Magnus would say that he _definitely_ wants to hear them. He’s not sure why he _doesn’t_ say that.

 

“Do you want to come in?” he asks instead, gesturing behind him into the apartment. “I usually get enough food for two, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. We could share.”

 

“You’re not transformed though,” states Alec, because apparently he’s going to make this difficult, but he steps through the doorway anyway.

 

Magnus smirks, reaching out to slide Alec’s jacket from his shoulders, a habit now. “A good observation.”

 

Alec tenses, but Magnus makes the most of dragging his palms across the width of Alec’s back, humming as Alec slides out of the sleeves. Magnus is close enough to feel the cold from outside radiating off him, a chill clinging to his skin, so the sooner Magnus steals him away to the living room where it’s warm and fire-lit, the better.

 

And hey, maybe he can make a date night out of this after all, without even having to ask. He’s being obvious enough in his intentions, right?

 

Alec offers Magnus a tentative smile as Magnus hangs his jacket up, but it falters when Magnus steps back towards him.

 

“Forgive me for being forward, Alexander,” he says carefully, magnetised by the way Alec’s eyes track across his face, roaming every square inch of Magnus’ expression, taking it all in. “But I want to spend time with you when I’m _me_ , rather than as a cat. That’s not too out there for you, is it?”

 

Alec gulps. Then, he shakes his head. _No_ , his eyes say. _That’s not too out there at all_.

 

 _Perfect_ , Magnus thinks.

 

 _You’re incorrigible_ , says his inner Ragnor.

 

“I’ll go get plates,” Magnus chimes, spinning away on his heels. “How long can you stay?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, and Alec doesn’t try to give one. “Make yourself comfortable, put your feet up, choose something on Netflix.”

 

He waves his fingers at Alec over his shoulder, and behind him, the TV flicks on, the fire crackling into life. It’s maybe a little much - summoning fire isn’t exactly level one magic - but it’s worth it. He doesn’t have to look back to know the surprise on Alec’s face. It makes Magnus’ stomach flip.

 

He skids into the kitchen in his dress shoes, a sway to his hips as he pulls crockery from the kitchen cabinets. The TV hums from the other room, the chatter lively and the audacious laugh track bolstering his Magnus’ good mood.

 

That same thrum, it’s in his magic too. A hopeful vibration just beneath his skin, a burn like whiskey, except not just down his throat - perhaps it’s just as enamoured as him by that small Alec-shaped flame in his chest that he’s fanning ever so faithfully. In his mind, he imagines it as an amber glow, lathing across his skin and coiling around his calves, and the slow drag of it is moreish, it’s exciting, it’s -

 

He should be able to feel the transformation coming. It’s not just fatigue and hunger that make him change - it’s emotions too, strong ones, strange ones. And apparently not just bad ones either.

 

The plate in his hands goes clattering to the floor and Magnus is lucky it doesn’t break. He startles at the loud noise, way louder than he was expecting, but the noise _he_ makes comes out as a  low, gruff _bark_.

 

Oh, for the love of fuck.

 

Magnus glances down. Four paws, one tail, some mottled-colour fur. He’s a dog. It’s always a dog whenever he’s eager for something - it’s probably his magic’s way of keeping his ambitions in check. Or punishing him.

 

“Alec?” he calls wearily. There’s a moment or two of silence, but Magnus’ ears prick to the sound of padding feet across the hallway.

 

Alec sticks his head around the door, frowning when he doesn’t see Magnus immediately.

 

“Yeah?” he frowns, before leaning back out into the hall, “Magnus, where’d you go?”

 

Magnus sighs, slinking around the side of the kitchen island, his tail curled around his back leg. Alec’s eyebrows shoot up, but his answering smile is crooked. Some of the tension in his shoulders from before seems to vanish.

 

As do Magnus’ dinner plans.

 

“A beagle?” Alec grins. “Really? I always pegged you as something more -”

 

“Cute?” Magnus guesses.

 

“I was gonna say _intimidating_ ,” Alec laughs, “I can’t exactly imagine you as a Pomeranian, Magnus. It’s not really your speed.”

 

“Annoying little things, you’re right,” Magnus huffs. He trots up to Alec’s feet and paws at his socks. “You’re going to have to sort dinner again, Alexander.”

 

Alec raises his eyebrows. “No thumbs?”

 

“No thumbs,” sighs Magnus in agreement.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alec definitely has a favourite of Magnus’ accidental transformations. It takes a while for Magnus to cotton-on: he knows that Alec has a fondness for dogs, and absolutely hates anything with more than four legs (and Magnus can only pray that he doesn’t turn into a spider one of these days, because that will definitely ruin any progress he is making towards asking Alec on a date), but it’s the little black cat that he thinks has stolen Alec’s heart.

 

Once Magnus knows, he goes out of his way to absolutely _milk_ it. He’s not ashamed. Catarina would indeed tell him that he is shame _less_ if she could see him winding his way around Alec’s ankles when he arrives with takeout, which never fails to make Alec laugh - always a surprised laugh, something that catches him off guard.

 

He’ll always roll his eyes just after, complaining about how Magnus will trip him up and then he’ll have no takeout to eat at all - but it’s accompanied by this grin and a blush, and fuck, Magnus is only human.

 

Well, not always. But mostly. Sometimes. Not enough when he’s around Alec.

 

Tonight is a night like that. It’s not a Friday - that routine is out the window now - but five clients in a row today has worn Magnus out, and he could feel the transformation coming the moment he put his key in the lock.

 

And Alec - Alec is still acclimatising to Magnus’ voice coming from a cat, but he’s getting there, and he doesn’t even blink when he opens the door these days. Magnus likes this development. It’s a level of intimacy - albeit, bizarre intimacy - that he hasn’t afforded himself with another person in a long while.

 

“Do you eat anything other than takeout?” Alec asks as he’s opening up a container of rice for Magnus. “Isn’t it full of all that MSG stuff?”

 

Magnus sits on the edge of the coffee table, his tail swishing back and forwards where it hangs over the edge. His eyes are focused on the food, and he reaches out to paw at the container when Alec puts it down, but Alec swats him away.

 

Magnus glares at him.

 

“I happen to like takeout food, thank you very much,” he says, “Aren’t I keeping you in business? Should you really be complaining?”

 

“I’m not complaining about _that_ ,” Alec sighs, spooning out some of the rice onto a plate for Magnus and sliding it towards him. “I’m just saying - you should look after yourself better. Maybe then you’d stop shapeshifting at weird moments.”

 

“And my eating less takeout would help with that?”

 

“You _know_ it’s not good for you, Magnus.”

 

Magnus blinks slowly, inspecting his paw. He measures his next words carefully.

 

“If I ordered less takeout, I wouldn’t get to see you as often, Alexander. I don’t think I’d like that.”

 

Alec’s brain malfunctions. Magnus doesn’t need to have the keen senses of a cat to see that.

 

“Oh. Uh,” Alec says. “Okay.”

 

“Okay?” Magnus asks, pricking his ears. Alec is staring pointedly at the Chinese food, picking at the plastic on one of the cartons. He always fidgets with his hands when he’s nervous, just as Magnus likes to play with the cuff on his ear.

 

It strikes Magnus that Alec probably doesn’t know how to deal with compliments - or someone’s evident interest in him - and that is a terrible shame.

 

Magnus scoots his plate out the way with his paw and pads across the table towards Alec. He bumps Alec’s hands with his forehead, and Alec stills abruptly. Magnus’ nose is probably wet against his skin.

 

“Alexander,” he says, before he chickens out. “That’s an invitation.”

 

“For what?” Alec asks.

 

Magnus rolls his eyes. “What do you think?”

 

He nudges Alec’s hand again, nosing at the inside of his palm. He hears Alec suck in a breath, probably one he didn’t mean to take, and then Alec stretches out his hand, his fingertips brushing the fur between Magnus’ ears.

 

He threads his strong fingers through Magnus’ coat, his touch firm but careful. And it’s strange at first, having Alec’s hands on him like this, but he’s also _warm_ , wonderfully so, and Magnus leans into the affection with a hum in his throat halfway to a purr.

 

Alec’s lack of hesitation is a testament to how much the cat is _clearly_ Alec’s favourite. Magnus was definitely on the money about that.

 

Alec runs his hand all the way down Magnus’ back, and then he laughs, a splendidly breathy laugh, that makes Magnus squirm. He doesn’t touch Magnus again. Perhaps that’s a shame, or maybe it’s a relief. Magnus is not quite sure.

 

“That’s kinda weird,” Alec says, his voice low and telling. “Sorry.”

 

Magnus doesn’t argue with him. He doesn’t agree with him either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second part coming soon! Keep your eyes peeled :D
> 
> Visit me on [tumblr](http://the-prophet-lemonade.tumblr.com) and shout in my inbox! I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bootheghost)! Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed and/or think my sense of humour is terrible lol
> 
> Merry Christmas everybody! I've got a colossal amount of fic coming in 2019 and I'm hype! :D


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and here's the second part!

The snow doesn’t do good things to Magnus’ magic.

 

Catarina says it’s easier to deplete magic reservoirs in the winter because your body is too busy trying to keep you warm, but Magnus has an impulsive streak a mile wide, and he’s not one to hold back just because it’s just gotten a little cold. If anything, more people are seeking out his help for herbal remedies and magical flu cures, and he’s never been busier.

 

But it does mean he burns out far quicker, and his magic goes haywire the moment the temperature drops below freezing, scampering up and down his spine like an itch he’s not quick enough to scratch.

 

It’s twenty-five days before Christmas, the snow is beginning to settle and build up about the front steps of his building, and it’s the combination of that shiver, his exhaustion, and an ill-timed caffeine high that lets him know he’s at risk of turning into something unsightly tonight.

 

He just wishes he could predict _when_.

 

He likens it to a sneeze. Or really, the moments before a sneeze, when you know you’re going to sneeze and it just won’t come, but your eyes are watering and you keep taking short sharp breaths, unable to do anything else. And that’s annoying, because it means Magnus is on high alert; he can’t pop to the corner store; can’t call Catarina up for a quick chat; can’t even fully relax into the sofa, just in case he blinks and turns into a caterpillar and is left to the mercy of Chairman Meow.

 

He gives the Chinese place a call.

 

There _are_ benefits to the snow, of course. The main one being the way Alec’s cheeks are flushed scarlet by the cold when Magnus answers the door later that night, this beautiful maroon-coloured scarf looped around Alec’s neck and shoulders, shielding his scruffy jaw from the cold.

 

Alec’s hair is storm-ruffled, fluffed up by the snow and a little damp with melting ice, and, even better, he has Magnus’ delivery bundled up in his coat to keep it warm.

 

Magnus has never seen a better sight. And perhaps - judging by the way Alec’s mouth falls open - nor has Alec.

 

He blinks owlishly, his eyes flicking down the length of Magnus’s outfit, his gaze buffering over the shirt Magnus has unbuttoned all the way down to his navel and the way the thread woven into it glints with shocks of silver. Magnus leans heavily on the door.

 

“Oh, uh,” says Alec, “I thought you were -?”

 

“Not yet,” says Magnus with a flourishing wave of his hand. He steps aside to let Alec in. “But I thought I’d give you a ring in advance. Can never be too careful.”

 

Alec squints at him as he passes. It’s a peculiar, surly look of his that Magnus has taken to calling Alec’s protective streak. It doesn’t exactly make Magnus hot under the collar - Alec is looking at him like he wants to press his hand to Magnus’ forehead to check his temperature - but it does make him feel _safe_. Someone’s looking out for his well being and is getting mad when Magnus doesn’t do the same.

 

It’s nice.

 

Magnus shuts the door, taking a moment to appreciate Alec from behind as Alec shuffles into the apartment, kicking off his boots by the shoe rack and heading straight to the kitchen to get plates. He moves through Magnus’ space effortlessly. That’s nice too.

 

Magnus follows him into the kitchen, whistling as he goes. The foreboding tickle of his magic is still there, unfortunately, but he’ll be damned if he’s not going to make the most of Alec before he transforms.

 

“Maybe if you eat now, you’ll be able to get enough energy back so that you won’t change at all,” Alec says without looking back at him, busy unloading crockery from the cupboards and laying it out on the sideboard.

 

“Hmm,” ponders Magnus, slinking up next to him and hoisting himself up onto the countertop. “I’m not entirely sure it works like that, but I appreciate the endeavour.” He swings his legs aimlessly, drumming his ring fingers on the granite. Alec’s attention twitches, like he’s acutely aware of the brush of Magnus’ sleeve against his own, or the proximity of Magnus’ hand to his, but he seems to shake his head, as if clearing himself of distracting thoughts.

 

Magnus pouts, crossing one leg over the other. He flicks one more button on his shirt open. He can practically hear Catarina rolling her eyes at him from across the city.

 

Alec doesn’t even notice. In fact, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks the time. It’s close to seven o’clock. Magnus doesn’t see why that’s important.

 

“Are you busy tonight?” he asks, curling his finger over the cuff on his ear. “I can’t imagine too many people call for takeout in the middle of a snowstorm unless they have a good reason.”

 

“And you have a good reason?” Alec teases gently, but he’s still not paying full attention, spooning satay chicken out onto a plate. He shouldn’t even be doing that - Magnus has hands, Magnus has damn _thumbs_ \- but he has this singular focus about him that’s almost a little intimidating.

 

“Alexander,” Magnus replies, pressing a hand to his chest theatrically. “I hope you’re not implying that I’m not burdened with a terrible curse and am depending on you as my knight in shining armour -”

 

Alec snorts. Magnus raises his eyebrows.

 

“Oh, you think that’s funny, do you?” he laments, “Knowing that you’re the only person I can rely on in this horribly lonely city to rescue me when my magic goes haywire -”

 

“I think you’re being melodramatic, actually,” says Alec. He glances at his phone again, his shoulders fall, and then he holds out the plate to Magnus.

 

The _sneeze_ of Magnus' magic takes him by surprise.

 

Magnus blinks. He’s a good foot shorter than he had been two seconds ago. _Why did he takes his eye off the ball, God damnit._

 

He glances down at himself, and his beautiful shirt and blazer have been replaced by downy, grey feathers, and instead of leather shoes, he has a pair of yellow claws, and instead of nail polish, he has talons.

 

A bird. An owl, actually. A Northern white-faced owl if he’s being specific, and he is, because he saw one on that David Attenborough documentary he binged last week. Squinty little thing. He hasn’t been an owl in a while.

 

He looks back up at Alec, and Alec -

 

Well, Alec has the twitch of a smile tucked away in the corner of his mouth, and this soft look in his eyes that is despairingly fond, but somehow, quite tired too. His shoulders seem to droop.

 

Magnus doesn’t like the strange knot it forms in his gut.

 

“What’s the verdict?” he asks instead. Alec crooks his arm for Magnus to hop onto him. Magnus curls his talons around Alec’s forearm carefully, not wanting to pierce Alec’s shirt, ruffling his feathers as he tries not to lose his balance as Alec takes him and the food into the living room. Wings always make him feel top-heavy. They’re very ungainly.

 

“Doesn’t really suit you,” says Alec. He lets Magnus jump off onto the back of the sofa, and Magnus makes the most of his 360 degree vision to watch Alec move all the way around the room.

 

“Are you saying I’m not wise like an owl, Alexander? I’m wounded.”

 

Alec makes a _tsk_ -sound, another of his little laughs. He sets the food down on the coffee table as Magnus bounces his way down the back of the couch, his wings unfurled and fluttering. He knows he looks a little foolish, but they’ve been doing this long enough that things like shame when he’s around Alexander are long since out the window.

 

“I’m not saying that,” says Alec, glancing at his phone a third time, “But - the cat is the best one. It just - I dunno. Reminds me most of how you are when you’re … you.”

 

“Coughing up hairballs?”

 

Alec narrows his eyes.

 

“ _Magnus_ ,” he presses.

 

Magnus laughs. It comes out more like a hoot. _Remind him_ not _to do that again_.

 

“This one’s not so bad,” he says instead, spreading out his wings and giving them a cursory flap. “Although the novelty of flight does wear off quite quickly when you can only fly around the lampshade a few times before getting dizzy.”

 

They settle into silence after that, the snow ghosting at the windows and the TV on a low buzz. Magnus eats his takeout as best he can - pecking at the plate is perhaps the least efficient way of dining, he discovers - but Alec just picks at the tassels on one of Magnus’ cushions, his phone balanced on his knee, illuminating the soft light with a shard of blue every time Alec clicks the home button.

 

Alec’s expression never changes, settled into a slight frown, but his fingers drum upon his knee, like he’s antsy.

 

Magnus wolfs down the last piece of chicken - no teeth for chewing, he realises too late - and then kicks away the empty plate with his foot. He hops forward on the table, his claws scratching at the wood.

 

“Alexander,” he sighs heavily. He balances right on the edge of the table, his eyes round and yellow as he stares up at Alec, who seems to blink himself out of a haze. “If you have somewhere you need to be, please just tell me. I won’t be offended if you need to leave.”

 

“No, I -” Alec splutters, quickly shoving his cell phone under his thigh, embarrassed at being caught. “Sorry, it’s nothing, I was just checking the time -”

 

“Twelve times in the last five minutes?”

 

“Sorry, I just - “ He palms his hand through his hair, still damp from the snow. He makes it even messier. “I have my civil law final this week, and I was meant to be studying tonight, but -”

 

_I’m here._

 

Magnus frowns. Of course, he feels irrevocably bad for keeping Alec from his books. It’s certainly selfish to think he can monopolise Alec’s time by asking him to babysit whenever Magnus has an unfortunate transfiguration incident, but - well, shoot him, he enjoys Alec’s company. He’s allowed to be a bit greedy.

 

It’s not like Alec _has_ to stay. Magnus has made that more than clear in the past. As long as he’s in no danger of being eaten by the Chairman, he’s perfectly fine left alone - it’s just that he prefers not to be.

 

But Alec has never expressed a desire to leave. He wants to be here - or so Magnus hopes. Maybe he’s just too good a person to let Magnus down. That’s also very likely. Alec has always struck Magnus as the sort of man who worries far too much about the safety of just about everyone he meets, maybe at the expense of his own grades.

 

Maybe Magnus can compromise. Just this once.

 

“Do you have your books on you?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

 

Alec frowns, but then he nods.

 

“Why don’t you just study here, then? There’s a desk in my study, or you can use the coffee table. I don’t mind.”

 

Alec’s looks a bit sceptical, but he can’t win a staring contest with Magnus when he’s like this. Owls don’t need to blink.

 

“Yeah,” he says carefully, “I mean, if you’re sure that’s okay -”

 

“Positive. I feel bad making you sit around and watch terrible television with me all the time. I want you to actually _want_ to come here.”

 

Alec smiles.

 

“That would be really great then.”

 

Magnus has to fight back the desire to preen himself.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There is a state of grace to be found in this little routine of theirs: Magnus curled up in whatever animal form he has taken, catching up on his unwatched Netflix subscriptions with the TV on low, and Alec, cross-legged on the floor, his textbooks spread out across the coffee table, the only sounds from him either the scratch of his pen or his quiet huffs.

 

Magnus only wishes he could figure out a way to make this happen when he’s not a cat, or an owl, or some sort of ugly lizard creature - how does he go about asking Alec to do this with him _just because_?

 

Because he wants this: this peace, this quiet, this gentle camaraderie and companionship that doesn’t really require talking, just existing. He wants to be curled on the sofa with a glass of whiskey, dallying his evenings away admiring the furrow in Alec’s brow and the way his reading glasses slip down his nose without his realising from across the room. He wants Alec to complain about his required reading to him. He wants Alec to collapse onto the sofa afterwards and tell him about his day.

 

He wants Alec to share his space with him. He wants to share his space with Alec. He wants Alec’s jacket to have a designated hook on the coat rack. He wants to be interrupted mid-potion by his phone lighting up with a _hey, I’m coming round later, you want anything to eat?_ He wants the other side of his bed to stop feeling so cold in the winter.

 

That’s not too much to ask, is it?

 

 

* * *

 

 

Three weeks later, and Magnus is a sheep. He didn’t meant to become a sheep, but he was searching his shelves for a jar of wool just before he transformed, so maybe there _is_ some rhyme or reason to his magic.

 

Still, being a sheep is far, far worse than being a cat. At least cats have paws; cats can stab buttons on his phone; cats can jump up to the liquor cabinet, even if they can’t open it. A sheep has hooves, and Magnus almost resigns himself to a night of ramming his head against the wall, when he remembers his phone has voice command.

 

 _Thank fucking God_ -

 

He places a call to the Chinese place without a single accidental _bleat_ , and then he places himself in the middle of the hallway, staring at the front door. There’s a potted hydrangea on the sideboard that some feral part of him really wants to eat. No. _No_.

 

The heavy thud of Alec’s footsteps echoes up the stairs and along the corridor about half an hour later, just as Magnus is beginning to droop. His ears immediately prick up, but his head spins, his depth perception all out of whack.

 

He hears Alec stop on the other side of the door and suck in a deep breath - and wow, sheep hearing is better than he thought - and then there’s a moment of silence before Alec seems to summon the courage to knock.

 

Magnus can’t open the front door with his hooves. It’s vaguely possible when he has paws or claws, but _hooves_ \- yeah, that’s not gonna happen.

 

At least he left it unlocked.

 

“Hey, uh - Magnus?” comes Alec’s voice through the door, followed by another solid knock. “Magnus?”

 

“It’s open!” Magnus calls back.

 

The door creaks open, and then there’s Alec in his ghastly raincoat and cycle helmet, his rain-damp hair sticking to his forehead, water rolling down his nose; he peers cautiously into the hallway.

 

“Magnus, are you alri- oh. Oh, wow.”

 

“I don’t have time for your wisecracking, Alexander,” Magnus replies, turning away from the door and wandering back into his apartment - but it’s hard to appear dignified when he’s forced to trot and he looks like cottontail.

 

_One of these days, he is gonna get all the karma that he’s owed -_

 

He hears Alec slip through the door behind him, rustling around as he kicks off his shoes and hangs up his jacket and helmet.

 

His steps are far softer when he’s just in his socks. Having him pad around Magnus’ space is a welcome intrusion - it’s been too long since Magnus entertained house calls that weren’t from Catarina or the postman - and there’s something about it that feels a little intimate.

 

But there’s no time for that. Before he was so rudely turned into a sheep, he was halfway through making a potion for a client on a strict time schedule, and he really needs that jar of wool from the top shelf.

 

Alec shuffles into the living room, moving towards the sofa as Magnus stares petulantly up at his supply cabinet, a moment away from tapping his hoof on the floor and bleating out a swear word. Alec dumps the takeout on the coffee table, a routine by now, surely, and he’s got a smile growing on his face when he looks back at Magnus, like he just can’t help himself.

 

“Y’know, your tail is kinda cu-”

 

“I need you to help me,” Magnus interrupts, before Alec can tell him something even more mortifying than this situation already is. Magnus can’t exactly look cute and demure when he’s a sheep - there’s a reason the saying is _puppy dog eyes_ , and not … well, nevermind - so he might as well just tell Alec what he needs, and not divulge in small talk when he’s not in the mood.

 

Alec has the grace to clamp his mouth shut and just nod.

 

Magnus tips his head towards the top shelf of the cabinet, clopping his hooves on the hardwood floor.

 

“I need that,” he says, “The jar of wool. It’s for a potion.”

 

Alec doesn’t miss a beat. Instead, he just raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.

 

“And what exactly are you going to do with it once you get it? You don’t have hands.”

 

“Unhelpful,” Magnus mutters, before trotting up to his cabinet to knock his head against the wood. The cabinet shakes, all the glass jars trembling together, but none of them fall.

 

But it is enough to spur Alec into action as he rushes forward, gripping the side of the cabinet and nudging Magnus away with his foot.

 

“Hey, woah, careful,” he says, “I’ll get it, I’ll get it. No need to be so dramatic -”

 

“I think I’m more than entitled to be dramatic, considering.”

 

Alec smirks. He tries to hide it, to squish it down into the corner of his mouth, but Magnus sees.

 

 _The audacity_ -

 

“This one?” Alec asks, holding up a jar of newt eyeballs, completely nonplussed. Magnus shakes his head.

 

“Eyeballs? In a spell for nervousness? I think not,” he says. “I need the wool. And don’t you dare tell me I could just use some of my own.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Alec replies, biting his lip as he stretches to swap jars. Magnus’ eyes fall to the slither of skin that peeks between the hem of Alec’s tshirt and the waistband of his pants.

 

Talk about cliches.

 

Magnus chews the inside of his cheek and looks away.

 

“Okay, where d’you need this?” Alec asks then, completely oblivious. “Do you want me to help? You can tell me what to do, if you like.”

 

“Yeah,” says Magnus. “Yes. That would be good.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alec has the diligence and focus of a scholar, but Magnus isn’t exactly surprised. He never expected anything less, and watching Alec carefully measure out the precise quantities of the ingredients Magnus needs for his potion - complaining when they’re not exactly perfect even though Magnus insists it doesn’t matter - should fill Magnus with some sort of delight.

 

It does. A little bit. But mostly, he’s just rueing the day he was born. Well, he’s mainly rueing his father for giving him the ability to transform into ungulates and denying him this chance to slide up behind Alec, slot his chest against Alec’s back, and guide Alec’s hands in putting all the ingredients into the cauldron, his fingers draped over the back of Alec’s knuckles.

 

Magnus is a romantic. He’s seen _Ghost_ too many times. He wants that pottery scene for himself, damnit.

 

Alec drops a pinch of wool into the cauldron on Magnus’ workbench. The potion sizzles with a strange green smoke but then cools, changing into a deep sea blue. It’ll need to rest for a few hours, and then Magnus can bottle it for the morning. _Hopefully_.

 

“That’s kinda fun,” says Alec, turning around to face Magnus, his marvelous forearms exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves, and this gleeful, boyish smile on his face. It’s completely open and unabashed, and it makes Magnus wonder if Alec is flexing muscles he hasn’t used in a long time. The glint of excitement and accomplishment in his eyes speaks to that. “I can see why you like it. It’s … very methodical.”

 

“Mm,” Magnus murmurs, neither here nor there. Alec’s smile falls. He crouches down in front of Magnus and moves to pet Magnus’ head - but then hesitates at the last moment, curling his fingers into his palm.

 

God, Magnus _wanted_ that touch.

 

“Magnus? Are you alright? Is it your magic? Do you need to eat?”

 

“Just feeling a little dizzy,” Magnus says, “I think I just need to sit down.”

 

If he were a cat, maybe Alec would’ve carried him to the living room, but as a sheep, Magnus has no such luck. Instead, he has Alec hovering awkwardly above him, side-stepping and dancing around him, piling cushions and throws on him when he can’t quite jump up onto the sofa and has to settle for the rug in front of the fireplace.

 

When Alec quietly edges a plate of food in front of him, Magnus’ stomach churns at the sight of meat, and he turns his head away sharply, wrinkling his nose.

 

“Magnus, you need to eat,” Alec presses, nudging the plate back towards him. He’s sat in front of the fireplace too, cross-legged on the rug, facing Magnus, his textbook open in his lap, those damn reading glasses slipping down his nose. The firelight dances against the side of his face, the cut of his cheek.

 

Magnus grumbles.

 

“Magnus,” Alec tries again, more insistently, “You’re not gonna change back if you don’t eat _something_.”

 

“I don’t want to eat that,” Magnus mutters. “Turns out I’m a herbivore for the minute.”

 

Alec doesn’t need telling twice. He removes the plate of Chinese food immediately, pushing it back onto the coffee table.

 

“Okay,” he says, “What do you want to eat? I’ll go make it.”

 

Magnus squints.

 

“You cook?”

 

Alec shrugs, his answering smile somewhat meek.

 

“Not well,” he admits, “But you need it. Besides, how wrong can a plate of vegetables go?”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alec makes a salad from the sad collection of vegetables in the bottom drawer of Magnus’ sparsely-populated fridge, so the answer is at least _somewhat_ wrong. He doesn’t quite deseed all the peppers and he leaves a lot of the peel on the carrots and the limp arugula is just depressing, in all honesty, especially when there’s not even Ranch dressing to go with it.

 

Magnus doesn’t care. His stomachs (all _four_ of them) rumble loudly when Alec returns to the fireplace with his offering. He sets the bowl down in front of Magnus, hesitating a moment before he sits down again, trying not to scrutinise Magnus’ reaction.

 

But he says nothing, eventually picking his books back up and diving back into his reading. The fire spits and crackles and Magnus crunches obnoxiously, and there’s no conversation to fill the silence. It’s not as comfortable as it usually is, and Magnus doesn’t really understand why, but suspects his sour mood might have something to do with it.

 

He feels bad. He didn’t mean to take it out on Alec.

 

“Alexander,” he says, and he watches as Alec swallows thickly, reading to the end of his sentence before he puts his pen down and looks up.

 

The glow of the fire catches in his dark eyes, and he’s unfairly, _startlingly_ beautiful.

 

Alec raises an eyebrow as if to ask what’s wrong. He always asks. It’s probably the part of his character that Magnus appreciates the most, the ever-constant need to take care of others, to be useful, to do good.

 

Even when he’s clearly busy and Magnus is deliberately being obtuse.

 

“I’m sorry,” says Magnus, and he means it. He wonders if sheep can look pathetic. Probably.

 

Alec frowns. “For what?”

 

“For dragging you over here whenever this happens. For being … difficult about it. I appreciate you being here, I do, but you don’t have to - be here. Not if you don’t want to. It’s not an obligation just because I can’t control the odd hiccup in my magic.”

 

“I’m not going anywhere, Magnus,” Alec says, smiling something confused. He sets his textbook down on the ground and scoots closer to Magnus. “The alternative is being holed up in the library studying and honestly - I like it here. It’s quiet. Relaxing. No freshmen hogging seats and blasting their music in the silent reading area. Plus, there’s always the guessing game of what you’re gonna be this time -”

 

“Glad I’m such a source of amusement for you -”

 

“What I mean is,” Alec interrupts gently, “I’m not here just because I’m the one delivering your food. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

 

Magnus tucks his hooves under himself, and he ducks his head; he feels self-conscious, but it’s not just that. There’s this warm flutter in his belly that he’s been feeling more and more in these weeks of late, confusing and nauseating and desperately fond, and now, something has laid flint to it. It sparks.

 

Alec’s expression softens, a little sympathetically.  

 

“Listen, I’ll just-” he begins, tearing a sheet of paper from his notepad and pulling a pen from his back pocket. “-give you my number. That way you don’t have to call for takeout every time you transform, and you won’t feel like you’re forcing me to do something just because I’m on the job. It doesn’t take that long for me to get here from home or school. Yeah?”

 

“You don’t have to do that,” Magnus says, but his voice is low. Low and quiet, but not quiet enough to mask that tiny flicker of uncertainty that he hates about himself, because it only gives him away. “I didn’t ask you to-”

 

“I want to do it.”

 

“Oh,” says Magnus, like an idiot.

 

Alec’s face lights up with a grin, full-bodied and beaming, the corners of his eyes creasing up. He folds up the square of paper and slots it under the mass of Magnus’ wool for safe-keeping, laughing a little as he does.

 

“What?” he asks when he pulls back, unbearably close to Magnus’ face, all soft and firelit and honest and grinning, as if he doesn’t realise a _inch_ of the tug he has on Magnus’ poor heart.

 

God, Magnus really wants to kiss him.

 

Magnus really wants to kiss him, and he’s a fucking _sheep_.

 

This is a nightmare.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alec’s phone number taunts him. Magnus doesn’t move the piece of paper from his coffee table for a good week, and then there’s an embarrassing moment when Cat comes ‘round to collect some ingredients and tries to do some tidying for him - and he all but sprints across the apartment to stop her throwing it into the trash.

 

Cat fixes him with that _look_ of hers - the one that tells him he’s ridiculous, but that she’s long past the point of expecting anything less - but doesn’t ask him to explain as he furiously types Alec’s number into his phone for safe keeping.

 

And Magnus is not exactly sure how he _would_ explain.

 

He transforms twice that week: the first time into a marmoset, which is a new one, but at least he has thumbs and can get around the loft by swinging from light to light with his tail; and the second time, it’s a monarch butterfly, and he has a _terrible_ time trying to stay out of the way of the Chairman’s beady eyes and murderous intent.

 

He barely makes it twenty-four hours after that incident, so completely burned out and frazzled, before he finds himself staring at his black cat self in the mirror on his vanity again.

 

At least he made it home. It always starts like a tickle, an ache in the back of his knees, a strange and fuzzy migraine dancing like stars in the corners of his eyes - he had felt it when he was out shopping for ingredients this morning, and fought it back whilst he was delivering a potion to a new client -

 

But he had only just made it to his bedroom, flopping down face-first onto his bed, when his muffled groan had become a muffled _meow_.

 

He should be used to it by now. He really should, but it’s been happening more and more lately. His magic reserves have never felt deeper, but maybe that’s the problem, because he keeps pushing himself to see how far he can go, how long he can last, how many people he can help with a last minute potion. _Just one more spell_ is a mantra that doesn’t serve him well.

 

It’s going to send him to an early grave. A _very_ early grave if he keeps transforming into insects in front of his cat. God, that would be an ironic way to go. Catarina would never let him live it down.

 

Magnus stares hard at himself in the vanity mirror. He blinks his gold eyes. In the low light of his room, his pupils are wide and eclipsed. He wiggles his nose. His whiskers twitch.

 

From the corner of his eye, he notices that the bedroom door is shut.

 

Oh great, he’s stuck in here.

 

He leaps down from the bed and trots over to the door, petting at the wood with his paw. His claws catch, scratching the oak, so he stops immediately, muttering a very rude swear word in Indonesian. He glances up at the door knob, gold and gloating above him, and whilst he thinks he could jump that high, he knows he won’t be able to turn it.

 

Next, he tries the window out onto the fire escape, but that’s locked too, and there’s ice forming on the outside of the glass, and no amount of scrabbling at the latch does him any good.

 

He pads back over to his bed, jumping up onto the silk sheets and squishy covers, his paws swallowed up by the duvet. He’s beginning to feel a little antsy; it’s like his magic knows he’s stuck and with no easy way to replenish his strength, and it makes him nervous.

 

Now he knows how the Chairman feels when Magnus accidentally shuts him in his bedroom when he’s out of town for the weekend. (Except, Magnus isn’t planning on going on a revenge rampage through his closet and prized collection of expensive shirts.)

 

There are knots forming in his gut; he always imagines it as his magic stretching him out thin, pulling him taut to wring the very last dredges of power out of him like a dishcloth. He has no food or water in here, and it’s a little cold with the snow falling silently beyond the window, piling up around the frame in small heaps of white. The chill is seeping into the room, tickling Magnus’ ears and making his nose ache.

 

He could sleep. Curl up on the pillows and take a cat-nap, because really, it’s the only way he’s going to change back to human any time soon, but that could be hours away, if at all. One time, after a particularly memorable bender of a weekend with Cat and Ragnor, he spent three whole days as a tortoise, which was probably a lesson learned for something. After about twelve hours, he had been convinced he was going to be stuck that way forever. He had been inconsolable and it’s probably the reason Ragnor doesn’t visit as much as he used to.

 

Magnus doesn’t want to be a cat for three days. He doesn’t want to be trapped in his room for three days.

 

Then, he spots his phone abandoned on the end of the bed. It must’ve fallen out of his pocket when he transformed - _and thank fucking God_ . Magnus almost pounces on it in his haste, unlocking it with his nose (not his finest moment, but there’s no-one to see him do it) and asking Siri to phone _Alexander_.

 

The phone rings two, three, then four times, and Magnus grows increasingly anxious for reasons he doesn’t want to unpack right now.

 

Then, on the fifth ring, Alec picks up.

 

“Hello? This is Alec’s Lightwood’s phone -”

 

Of course. Magnus didn’t have the courtesy to give Alec his _own_ number in return after Sheepgate. At least Alec isn’t the sort of guy to let unknown callers go to voicemail.

 

“Alexander!” Magnus clamours, trying his best to talk into the phone on top of the covers. “I’m, uh - having a situation. I don’t suppose you’re available -”

 

“Magnus?” Alec asks, and Magnus imagines Alec’s eyebrows shooting up towards his hairline. There’s some ruckus on Alec’s end of the line, some hushed apologies and the sounds of a chair scraping and some books hastily thrown into a bag. Alec jostles his phone, his jacket rustling against the speaker as he probably switches shoulders. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, but more pinched.

 

“Magnus, are you alright? What’s happened?”

 

God, he sounds so worried. It makes Magnus feel like he’s creating a mountain out of a molehill, but - there’s a part of him that laps it up. Being the focus of that protective instinct of Alec’s is something he craves.

 

And, in his defense, he is actually in a bit of trouble this time. He does need some help.

 

“Nothing catastrophic,” he says anyway, hoping to calm Alec’s nerves. “Don’t fret, I’m fine, I still have all four legs and a tail. I’m just - shall we say, trapped, in my bedroom, and could use some assistance if you’re in the neighbourhood.”

 

“I’ll be right over,” says Alec instantly, “I’m still on campus, so if I take the B Train, I’ll be there in twenty minutes. Can you hold on that long?”

 

“Trapped, not dying. Please, take your time.”

 

“Ring me if anything happens, okay?” Alec insists. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” He hangs up after that, and Magnus is left a little bit dazed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

True to his word, Alec is there in seventeen minutes, because apparently he booked it from the subway to Magnus’ apartment, judging by the windburn all across his face, his cheeks scrubbed red by the cold, when he bursts into Magnus’ bedroom.

 

Unfortunately, it’s _not_ the way Magnus has envisioned Alec both red in the face and stumbling into his bedroom, so Magnus just stares at him, unblinking, from where he’s curled up on the end of the bed, being his best cat loaf.

 

Alec freezes in the doorway, his hand clamped tight over the doorknob. His hair is an absolute mess and he’s still in his overcoat and boots, the snow on his soles steadily melting into a puddle on the floor.

 

“Magnus!” he says, breathing heavily, and oh, Magnus is a little screwed, for a multitude of reasons. The first is the roundness of Alec’s mouth, lips chapped by the cold, which is horrendously distracting and conjures up all sorts of thoughts that a cat shouldn’t have; and the second, the frown that forms all too quickly between Alec’s brows as he hones in on the cat in the middle of the mattress. “ … Are you alright?”

 

Magnus stretches out lazily, kneading his paws into the covers and arching his back as he draws himself to his feet. He pads to the edge of the mattress, curling his body around the balustrade of the bed frame, his tail coiling around the wrought iron.

 

“Much better now that you’re here, darling,” he says. He tilts his head towards the door. “The door shut behind me. I didn’t realise until _after_ I collapsed face first into my pillows, sorry to say. I was a little careless.”

 

Alec scrubs his palm down his face, his shoulders falling, his chest deflating. He’s worried. _Really_ _worried_.

 

“Magnus,” he sighs. The bag on his shoulder slips onto the floor with a hefty thud. He doesn’t bother to toe out of his boots or strip himself of his coat - he reaches out for Magnus, and it’s Magnus surprise alone that has him shrinking back from those perfect hands.

 

_What -_

 

“You need to take care of yourself, Magnus,” Alec says, lifting Magnus from the bed. Magnus has the dignity not to yelp, just about, but then Alec is unzipping his coat and cradling Magnus against his chest where it’s warm and smells so much like him. He adjusts Magnus in his arms, supporting Magnus’ meagre weight and gently tucking Magnus’ tail into the crook of his elbow.

 

Magnus is completely … _he’s completely_ …

 

His thoughts have stopped working. There’s just white noise between his ears, white noise and the inveterate _squeeze_ somewhere between his third and fourth rib as Alec presses him tighter against his chest as he carries Magnus out into the living room.

 

The lights are off and the room is dark, and it makes Alec huff, something Magnus feels _intimately_ against his fur. He can feel Alec’s pulse _fluttering_.

 

“It’s freezing in here,” Alec mutters, more to himself than to Magnus. And the rush of cold air is not welcome either as Alec places Magnus down on the couch; Magnus wiggles his nose and his whiskers twitch as he shrinks into the cushions, more than a little disoriented.

 

Alec kneels down in front of the fireplace, muttering something under his breath that Magnus can’t quite understand. It takes him a few tries to get the kindling to light, and he leans down to blow gently at the cinders to get the flame to catch, but once it does, the room is swallowed up by the soft aureolin of blossoming embers. The light dances across the strong line of Alec’s bowed back.

 

In front of the fireplace, his silhouette is beautiful. He remains on his knees for a moment, his hands pressing into his thighs, his scrutiny on the fire, standing watch to make sure it doesn’t die.

 

The warmth leeches into Magnus, but it’s not quite enough. Not the same as the scratchy linen of Alec’s shirt, or the strong curl of his fingers beneath Magnus’ chest, or a heartbeat against his ear.

 

“You make me worry, y’know?” Alec says then, gently parting the silence with soft, breathy words. Magnus wonders if honesty is easier when he’s not looking Magnus in the eye, but then again - it’s never stopped Alec before. Sometimes, there are feelings too big for his chest, and they have to be let out, they have to be bled. Magnus understands that.

 

He understands that more than most.

 

“I’m fine, Alexander,” Magnus murmurs from the couch. He lowers himself onto his belly again, tucking his paws beneath himself. He curls his tail around himself to keep his body heat contained. “What’s the worst that could’ve happened? I would’ve survived a few hours in my own company, I’m sure.”

 

Alec glances back over his shoulder just as the fire leaps up behind him, engulfing the charcoals and burning them ash grey. “It’s not that,” he says. “You’re always wearing yourself out. Doing too much work, working too late … not taking care of yourself afterwards. You’ve run your magic out four times in the last fortnight, right?”

 

“I’m aware.”

 

Alec makes a noise of despair. “Exactly. That’s why I’m allowed to worry, Magnus.”

 

“Why?”

 

Alec scowls. He probably scowls just as much as he smiles at Magnus these days, and Magnus doesn’t like that. He pushes to his feet and returns to the couch, sitting down next to Magnus, his arm bracketing the spine, his fingers curled into his palm somewhere above Magnus’s head.

 

“What do you mean why?” he asks, looking down at Magnus. “It’s dangerous, Magnus. It’s dangerous, and I -”

 

He stops himself, as he often does. He stops himself because maybe he’s afraid of what he’s about to say, or of how Magnus will reply. Because maybe he’s not been allowed to be honest with himself before, and this is the very first time, and his mouth doesn’t quite match up to the feeling rising up in his throat.

 

“And you what?” Magnus prompts, hoping that he knows where this is going. He stretches out again, flopping onto his side and looking at Alec from upside-down, but there’s a lurch in his chest that can’t be ignored, even if he can pretend otherwise. That feeling, it aches.  

 

“And I _care_ about you,” Alec huffs, “How you’re doing, whether you’re eating. Isn’t that enough?”

 

Magnus smiles. He longs to fiddle with his ear cuff or toy with the rings on his fingers or even have hands at all to brush down the front of Alec’s shirt and pick at the buttons with some coy intention. He longs for palms to lay along the side of Alec’s neck, to feel that fluttering pulse again in his jugular. He longs to close the distance and make the ache go away.

 

He can’t do that. He can’t do that, and Alec is staring straight ahead now, fingers picking at the seams of his jeans, the pink colour creeping up his neck only highlighted by the fire into something rosey.

 

Magnus just gazes at him.

 

“That’s more than enough,” he says softly, because it is, because it has to be. “Thank you, Alexander.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Magnus fetches the TV remote from the other end of the couch, nosing it across the cushions towards Alec. One of Alec’s law textbooks is shoved down between the pillows, left behind from one of their previous study sessions, so whilst Magnus stabs the Netflix button with his paw, Alec pulls his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket and flips to a random chapter.

 

The fire laps at Magnus’ paws in ebbs and flows, enough to ward off the cold, but not enough to have him forgetting the snow that falls beyond the window and winter that grips the city in its icy vice. He creeps a little closer to Alec, making a show of trampling down the cushions and turning in tight circles, winding himself up into a ball.

 

Still not warm enough. He chances a glance up at Alec, but his focus is on his book as he searches for his page marker. The tightness around Magnus’ heart pinches again.

 

Perhaps Alec would be so kind as to afford Magnus a little of his honesty, a little of his bravery too. Because, sometimes, Magnus lacks the both of those, despite what most may think.

 

 _For God’s sake, Magnus,_ Ragnor would say. _Stop pining, and just make a move_.

 

For once, the pale reproduction of Ragnor that exists inside his head might be offering some good advice.

 

_Deep breath, Magnus._

 

Magnus pats Alec’s thigh with his paw, and Alec has the gall to smile that crooked, half-smile of his, deliberately not giving Magnus attention. He settles back into the sofa with his textbook, sinking into the cushions and looking very much at home. His eyes don’t leave the page, but Magnus knows he’s watching him.

 

If Magnus could huff - oh boy, he _would_. His heart is thrumming. He feels a little sick, and it’s not a hairball this time. How dare Alec not realise -

 

“Alexander,” he says instead, very pressed. “Don’t make me ask for it.”

 

“Ask for what?” Alec asks innocently, still reading. Magnus wrinkles his nose, patting Alec’s leg again, this time not quite retracting his claws. He’s going to be stubborn about this, and Alec’s going to _feel_ it.

 

“I’m a cat, Alexander,” Magnus says. “I’ve had a very trying day.” He kneads both paws into Alec’s thigh, pausing when Alec raises an eyebrow. “And I’m cold.”

 

But Alec still says nothing, licking his fingertip to flip the page of his textbook. He’s clearly not reading it, eyes skimming over the paragraphs and dreadfully boring diagrams, just to be a nuisance.

 

Magnus narrows his eyes. Alec is _teasing_ him.

 

Well, two can play at that game, and Magnus has always been the sort of man - _or cat_ \- to beg for forgiveness, rather than ask for permission.

 

He squishes himself beneath Alec’s arm, nudging Alec’s elbow with his head. Alec lifts his arm on instinct, and Magnus wriggles his way onto Alec’s lap, chirping in triumph when Alec is forced to set his book down.

 

Magnus tramples around in a circle before settling, his tail curled around his paws. He looks up at Alec with the closest thing he can manage to a smirk.

 

And Alec is smiling - a little despairing, a little embarrassed, but most definitely fond. Tenderness does things to his dark features that the sun does to the horizon at dawn. The dust of pink colour is still high in his cheeks, something that hasn’t faded all evening, and it means he can’t hold Magnus’ gaze for long.

 

He rests one of his large hands on Magnus’ head, scritching between his ears. Magnus doesn’t quite purr, but still, he leans up into the touch. He can’t not. He’s a little desperate for it.

 

“Okay,” Alec says, in that wonderfully deep, slightly hoarse voice of his. “Okay. Just don’t fidget too much. I was in the library earlier when you called and I really do have to study.”

 

Alec picks up his textbook again, resting it on the arm of the sofa as he lazily flips back to the start of the chapter. Magnus folds his paws under himself and gets comfortable, letting his tail flick against Alec’s knee like the tick-tock of a metronome. Alec teases his fingers through the fur just behind Magnus’ ears, running his fingertips in gentle, languid circles just where it makes Magnus’ knees go weak.

 

With the fire crackling with gentle, inaudible late-night conversation, and the snow a silent flutter behind the window, the cold kept at the arm’s reach of the man next to him, a much longed-for peace takes root in Magnus’ chest. Staying awake seems more hassle than it’s worth, especially with Alec so warm all around him and his touch so soothing and so craved; he blinks lazily to keep his eyes open, but it’s a fight he’ll happily lose.

 

His closes his eyes, quieted by the methodic traipse of Alec’s fingers up and down the back of his neck, the rustle of the pages as Alec flicks through his textbook, and just before he falls asleep, he thinks he hears Alec hum.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Magnus stirs to the sweep of strong fingers still moving through his hair. Bleary-eyed, he murmurs, shifting his shoulders against the comfy weight of Alec’s thigh, stretching out the kink in his neck and back that he deserves from taking a nap on the couch.

 

It’s still dark outside, a quiet, starless dark, so he doesn’t know what time it is. The room, too, is plunged into the same heavy sanctitude. Alec hasn’t moved to turn on a light, resigned to reading his notes by the flickering light of the fire.

 

Magnus gazes up at him from his lap. Alec scrutiny on the page has wonderful lines forming between his brows and around the downturn of his mouth, but his fingers still fiddle with the strands of Magnus’ hair, too soft, too gentle, too transparent.

 

His words from before, they echo. _I care about you. Isn’t that enough?_

 

Magnus reaches up, intending to pat Alec gently on the arm with his paw, to ask him how long he’s been asleep, but it’s not his paw that he sees - it’s his hand, his nail polish, his rings glinting in the strange light, opalescent and gold.

 

Ah. He’s human again. And Alec is still touching him, still stroking him. Maybe he hasn’t yet realised, too caught up in his study.

 

It would probably be bad of Magnus to let this carry on without saying a word, but - oh, he wants to let it continue. He could fall back asleep just like this, as easy as breathing, with his cheek pillowed on Alec’s thigh and Alec’s hand tangled in his hair.

 

He doesn’t do that.

 

“Alec,” he says, and his voice is low and hoarse with disuse. He clears his throat gently. “Alexander.”

 

Lazily, Alec’s eyes flick down to him, but nothing in his expression changes. There’s no surprise, and though his fingers still for just a moment, it’s only a prelude to the gentle blooming of his smile.

 

“Hey,” he whispers, a little bit dazed. His fingers pass across Magnus’ temple and then thread back into the mess of his hair, teased of its product.

 

Magnus’ heart skips a beat. Something in his chest quivers, a tremble befitting a bird, a cat, not a man. He suddenly feels a lot more awake.

 

“Alec,” he says again, words a little clearer, “I’m not a cat anymore.”

 

“Yeah,” says Alec, “I know.” He turns his attention back to his textbook balanced precariously on the arm of the sofa. “But I haven’t finished my chapter yet. So, you’re stuck.”

 

Magnus’ mouth falls open, but Alec doesn’t look back at him. His eyes flick across the next paragraph in his book, his fingers press just above Magnus’ ear, grazing Magnus’ earring, and his mouth twitches with another barely-suppressed smile.

 

 _If this is a dream, pinch me_ , Magnus thinks, but Alec does nothing of the sort. He pulls his fingers through the forelock of Magnus’ hair, and Magnus is left prone, mouldable, _vulnerable_ , Alec’s to do with as he wishes. His outstretched hand falls back upon his chest, brushing Alec’s arm in passing, and his eyes drift briefly to the ceiling.

 

His chest is awfully tight. It feels like there’s a weight sitting atop his ribcage. Maybe it’s a little difficult to breathe evenly. If Alec notices, he says nothing.

 

Magnus can’t remember the last time _just a simple touch_ left him so far gone for someone else, his heart beating wildly in his ears.

 

 _But it shouldn’t be a surprise_ , he corrects himself, because Alec has _always_ been a man of simple touches, kind words, unfailing generosity, and a need to be the one awake whilst the rest of the world sleeps on.

 

Of course Magnus would fall for that.   

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s a Saturday, and Magnus has a particular distaste for Saturdays.

 

And that’s because Saturdays are the furthest thing from takeout Fridays, and Alec is always busy on the weekend, studying for some exam or another, like a responsible adult, and not some pathetic excuse of a man who is fawning over something he is usually so sure how to get.

 

That’s Magnus. And Magnus’ is excruciatingly aware of that fact, so much so that he decides to pop open a bottle of wine just for himself and spend the night mulling over the best way to deal with newly-realised Feelings.

 

It’s been a very long time since he’s had Feelings with a capital F, and not just a dalliance with lust or an inconvenient crush; he’s a bit unsure how to hold it all inside his chest and not let it tumble out and spill across the floor, because these feelings, they demand to flutter, caught on some updraught that has Magnus floundering after his heart in the breeze.

 

Magnus enjoys courtships; he revels in the push and the pull of it. Catarina has always told him he’s far too obvious with his affections. Ragnor would insist that he’s a terrible flirt.

 

But Magnus doesn’t want to _only_ flirt with Alec. He wants a little more than that, a _lot_ more than that, he’s sure. He’s never been so sure in his life.

 

He’s just not sure how to ... get it. That’s a vulnerability he rarely permits himself, one even more closely-guarded than his penchant for inconvenient transfigurations. Alec already knows about one of those things. It shouldn’t be so difficult to have him realise the other, right?

 

Magnus uncorks his bottle of wine. It’s another vintage merlot, a very good year. The Chairman is sat on the kitchen countertop next to him, criticising his drinking habits with a beady stare, his plush tail flicking back and forth across the granite.

 

“What?” Magnus glares at the Chairman. “Spit it out. I can feel you judging me. I’m allowed to be dramatic when I’m moping.”

 

The Chairman blinks at him and says nothing, because normal cats can’t talk. Magnus sighs cumbersomely.

 

“Hypocrite,” he mutters, and the Chairman huffs, scampering away and disappearing out the kitchen door.

 

Magnus swirls the wine in his glass and takes a long-suffering sip. He should just bite the bullet, like Catarina said all those weeks ago. He should just bite the bullet and ask Alec out, out on a real date, with real drinks, with real intentions that can’t be misconstrued as just needing his help. _With a real kiss at the end of the night when things go well._

 

What’s the worst that could happen? Magnus turning into a sheep? Been there, done that, and Alec didn’t run away.

 

Oh, but this is so _difficult_ , Magnus laments, leaning back against the kitchen counter like some woozy fifties housewife weeping over her over-baked turkey. With his thumb and forefinger, his pinches his temples, his hand splayed across his forehead. He takes another sip of wine. It doesn’t make anything any clearer.

 

 _Well then, what’s the damn point in drinking_ -

 

There’s a knock on his front door, loud and demanding and a little bit frantic, and it stops Magnus’ train of thought. He’s not expecting a client until tomorrow morning, so this is either an emergency or someone wanting their money back, and he’s not in the mood for either. What he wouldn’t give to be able to turn other people into animals. It would solve so many of his problems - well, maybe not the Alexander one, but he’s almost willing to try anything at this point other than just spilling his feelings.

 

With another heaving sigh, Magnus sets his wine on the sideboard, smoothing down his shirt, and is a half step away from the kitchen door when he hears the front door open and someone call his name.

 

“Magnus?” It’s Alec. “Hey, Magnus, are you here?”

 

Magnus frowns, half because he definitely wasn’t expecting Alec, and half because of the ridiculous way his heart lurches out of his mouth. He hurries towards the hallway, but he stops, in the doorway, when he sees Alec stooping to seize the Chairman in his hands.

 

“Magnus -” Alec presses, sounding utterly exasperated. He’s still in his coat, his winter beanie yanked down over his ears and his hair sticking out wildly from beneath. His cheeks are reddened, and judging by the splatter of rainwater up his calves, he ran all the way here and Magnus doesn’t have a clue why.

 

“Magnus, Jesus Christ,” Alec says, holding the Chairman up to his face, trying to meet the Chairman’s eyes. “Why didn’t you ring me, I -”

 

He breaks off, looking a little wretched. The Chairman is wiggling, struggling to escape, but Alec holds him firm - firm, but gentle, and Magnus is drawn to that, to the way Alec’s thumbs rub loving circles into the Chairman’s fur.

 

_Why is he talking to the Chairman when Magnus is right here -_

 

Alec heaves a very deep sigh, the sort that precedes a great deal of honesty or a sweepingly grand gesture. He closes his eyes for a moment, summoning courage, but when he opens them again, his stare is steadfast, focused, gravely determined, if a little manic. It makes Magnus hot under the collar, but also _very_ confused.

 

“Magnus, listen,” Alec continues, still talking to the cat, like he hasn’t noticed Magnus at all, just standing there gawping like the fool Alec’s affection has left him as. “I’ve never done this before, but I figured, if I didn’t say something, I’d - if I didn’t say something now, I’d probably chicken out again, and I can’t keep going on like this. Not without trying, I -”

 

Alec clamps his teeth down on his lower lip.

 

Magnus finds that he’s holding his breath, afraid to make a sound and give himself away. Alec really hasn’t noticed him there at all, so why -

 

_What on Earth is happening -_

 

“I don’t care that the loft always smells of incense, I like it,” Alec says, the words just tumbling out. “I don’t care that sometimes the plants move or I catch things flying through the air or that you eat way too much takeout to be good for you. I don’t care that you turn into a frog, or an owl, or cat sometimes, I … I really _like you_ , Magnus. For all of those things or probably a lot more too. I like you.”

 

The Chairman just blinks at Alec, looking thoroughly alarmed to be dangling from some stranger’s hands, his back legs all stretched out and ridiculous-looking.  

 

He’s not the only one looking ridiculous. Magnus blinks too. Blinks again. Gapes a little.

 

Did he -

 

_Did he really just hear that right? Did Alec just say - and did he mean -_

 

And then, Alec’s face turns from that grim determination to a very peculiar panic, the panic of a man who has just laid his heart on the line without considering all the consequences, the longer the Chairman goes without talking.

 

“Magnus …” Alec stammers, and Magnus hears his voice begin to break. “C’mon, say something.”

 

 _Oh God_ , Magnus realises belatedly.

 

Alec thinks the Chairman is _Magnus_.

 

The Chairman starts squirming out of Alec’s grip, wriggling like a demon and swatting at Alec’s thumb with his claws. Alec startles, letting the Chairman drops with a noise of surprise, his fear quickly morphing into wild confusion.

 

And it’s too much, hearing Alec’s heartsore stutter as the Chairman’s tail shoots up the air and he darts away into the apartment like a bat out of Hell; it’s too much, watching Alec stand in the middle of his hallway absolutely blindsided by a _cat_ ; it’s too much to let Alec think his confession - his beautiful, wonderful, perfect confession - has just been rejected without a word.

 

And Magnus likes this ridiculous man _too damn much_ to stay silent in the kitchen door any longer.

 

So he starts laughing, and laughing hard.

 

Alec, ever composed and stoic and _far_ from easily spooked, jumps a mile.

 

“Magnus!” he blanches, “What - I thought - wait. _Wait_.”

 

Magnus shakes his head, leaning heavily against the doorframe, crossing one ankle over the other. He folds his arms across his chest and looks at Alec in the way Alec deserves to be looked at.

 

Alec _never_ fails to surprise him.  

 

“So, did I forget to mention that I have a pet cat?” Magnus asks, his smile broadening beyond his control. There’s bright colour blooming in Alec’s cheeks as realisation settles in. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

“Yes,” grumbles Alec. “Yep, you - you definitely forgot ... to mention that.” He palms his hand across the scruff on his jaw, pushing at his skin. His eyes flit to the floor, and then back to Magnus, only to find the floor again.

 

Magnus can’t be having that.

 

He pushes off the doorframe and closes the space between them in a few slow strides. Alec seems torn between turning his body away and meeting Magnus head on, and Magnus is wondering if this might be the moment where Alec finally turns tail and runs away -

 

But this time, Magnus finds, that thought only makes him smile ever wider.

 

“Alec,” he says, stepping closer, until they’re toe to toe. Alec tenses, and he’s staring so hard at the midpoint of Magnus’ chest now, that he might as well bore holes straight through Magnus’ ribs. And Magnus might welcome it, Alec’s stare and Alec’s hands rummaging around in the centre of him, where he feels they would belong. _Oh, listen to him._

 

His cheeks begin to hurt with his unfurling grin.

 

He can’t not say Alec’s name again, half a tease and half a test.

 

“Alexander.”

 

_I care about you. Isn’t that enough?_

 

Magnus reaches out, brushing his knuckles against Alec’s jacket, and Alec looks up so sharply that he must give himself whiplash. Magnus dares to be a little braver: he begins to walks his fingers up the front of Alec’s jacket, step by careful step, watching as he does so. When he reaches Alec’s neck, he pushes away the collar of Alec’s jacket, just so he can lay his palm there, upon the bare skin where it’s warm.

 

It reminds him of falling asleep in Alec’s lap the other night, that same present heat, that pulse of his heart fluttering just beneath his skin in answer to a touch, when Magnus was the only one close enough to feel it.

 

He curls his fingers around the back of Alec’s neck, rubbing his thumb in circles under the slope of Alec’s jaw. Finally, he meets Alec’s gaze, and his magic answers with a jolt.

 

Alec is blushing, and when he talks, his voice is raspy, each word caught upon a delightful hitch.

 

“... how much of all that-” Alec gestures vaguely with his hand in a circular motion between them. “-did you hear, exactly?”

 

“How much did you want me to hear?” Magnus murmurs, pressing his fingertips more firmly, more deliberately, into Alec’s pulse point. He thinks Alec might shiver.

 

“Magnus …”

 

Magnus bites his lip, unable to help himself.

 

“I can try turning into a cat if you want another go at your speech? It all sounded pretty good from where I was standing, but I think I missed out on the first-hand experience.”

 

“Can you just stop already,” Alec pleads, covering Magnus’ palm on his neck with his own. He grips the front of Magnus’ shirt and yanks him forward, and Magnus barely has the chance to laugh at his own cleverness before Alec is pressing his lips to Magnus’, and Magnus’ mind goes delightfully blank.

 

His magic stutters; he feels it spinning and swirling in his fingertips, trying to match the way his heart seems to soar in his chest, trying to leap from his lips and onto Alec’s in the same breath. Magnus curls his other hand around the back of Alec’s neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Alec’s mouth is firm, insistent, long-awaited, and he murmurs something illegible against Magnus’ mouth, but Magnus can feel him smiling, and then the kiss is more teeth than anything else.

 

Magnus pulls back enough to let his forehead knock against Alec’s, and he’s beaming too. Sparks of magic are arcing from his fingertips, so he presses them to the nape of Alec’s neck and hopes he can feel them too.

 

“So,” breathes Alec, and his eyes are shining like Magnus has never seen.

 

“So,” Magnus repeats, in like.

 

“I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I did just accost your pet cat with a lot of stuff he probably didn’t need to know, so maybe I should go apologise to him.”

 

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Magnus grins, twirling his fingers in Alec’s hair. “He’ll get over it.”

 

There’s a tickle then, along the backs of his knees and in the crooks of his elbows, ruminating up the back of his neck, that he knows well. It pinches in the bridge of his nose.

 

A _sneeze_.

 

He slides his hands from Alec’s neck, along his shoulders and across the wings of his collarbone, squeezing Alec by the biceps as he takes a half-step back.

 

Alec frowns.

 

“Magnus?”

 

“I don’t want to alarm you,” says Magnus sternly, his lips still tingling, but his heart placated, “But I have a feeling I’m five seconds away from ruining the moment.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Magnus is right. The moment is a little ruined, but it’s not all bad.

 

The cat is Alec’s favourite of his transformations, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit me on [tumblr](http://the-prophet-lemonade.tumblr.com) and shout in my inbox! I'm also on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/bootheghost)! Please leave a kudos and a comment if you enjoyed and/or think my sense of humour is terrible lol
> 
> Merry Christmas everybody! I've got a colossal amount of fic coming in 2019 and I'm hype! :D


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